


sit back and watch the world go by

by Starry_Dragon



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, Gen, Sad Ending, Sentimental, and also really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Dragon/pseuds/Starry_Dragon
Summary: It’s 65 years after the events of the Promised Day — had they happened. The Eternal Emperor Ling Yao is having a perfectly normal, boring day when Alphonse Elric arrives with news about his brother.





	1. Death

**Author's Note:**

> i cried writing this. enjoy!

The throne room was opulent today, as it had always been. Sixty-five years before, give or take a few months, Ling (and by extension Greed, technically) had been crowned Emperor of Xing in that exact room. He had been so overjoyed when he finally came back, with another personality in his head and a red tattoo on his hand, to take his place as Emperor. Now, however, he was just _bored_.

    Even Greed had the same sentiments. They were the embodiment of greed itself; now, however, they were a better fit for sloth. Greed hadn’t fronted in what felt like _years_. Probably their poor skills at Xingese didn’t help, but it still hurt to see Greed, who had once been insistent on fronting almost all the time, so subdued. The job just wasn’t appealing after sixty-five years of the same old nonsense.

    Ling took his place on the gold-plated throne. It was pretty, intricately carved and ancient, and the Eternal Emperor of Xing suited it well. He wore equally pretty robes and had his long hair tied up in a tight topknot. He looked the spitting image of a boy king, recently-crowned, and yet anyone living had known him as Emperor for most their life.

    As soon as he settled on the throne, expecting a hearing from some citizens about a clan dispute — it was no big deal, he’d just tell them not to kill each other and send it off to one of his more minor cause-handlers — a courier came in, panting from exertion. She bowed deeply.

    “My holy lord,” she said, standing up — and for some reason her face reminded Ling so much of Lan Fan it physically _hurt_ — “a traveller has arrived from Amestris and has demanded an audience.”

    Ling’s eyebrows scrunched. What kind of Amestrian would demand an audience? He was rather curious. “Very well,” he said, his interest piqued. “Show them in.” When was the last time an Amestrian had visited? A decade ago? There were remarkably few Amestrians that wanted to brave the desert — he had maybe only held audience with five over the many decades he’d been Emperor.

    _Seven, actually,_ commented Greed. At least they spoke sometimes, if only in his own head.

    As if to distract Ling from the goings-on within his skull, the mahogany doors of the throne room swung open and in strode, with a metallic clanking, one very familiar face — or perhaps helmet would be more accurate.

    Ling rose up from the throne almost against his will. “Alphonse? I haven’t seen you in decades.”

    “Hello, my lord,” Al said with only the slightest of a sardonic tone, bowing. “I hope I find you well.”

    Ling waved a hand. “As well as ever.”

    The conversation took a pause — Alphonse straightened back up, looked somehow sheepish as though he hadn’t quite thought this far. He collected himself quickly, however, and looked straight at Ling.

    “Can we walk? I have to tell you something.”

    Ling stood up gracefully. Six and a half decades as Emperor and you would do everything gracefully, like someone was watching you at all times. Sometimes he felt like an actor in a stage performance. Maybe he was acting. Who the hell was Ling Yao, the Eternal Emperor of Xing, anyways? Whoever he was… well, Ling wasn’t sure it was actually him.

    They walked out of the throne room, Ling’s ruby-red robes trailing behind him like the familiar sight of a pool of blood. He turned towards a smaller hallway, the pathway towards the garden.

    “So, what did you have to tell me?”

    Of course, Alphonse was taller than him while they were on even ground. Ling rarely looked up to people anymore — both physically and metaphorically. He had never been short in the first place, but with the elevated throne it really seemed like he was above everyone else.

    Greed might have wanted that once. Hell, even Ling might have.

    Alphonse didn’t have a face, but he looked sadder than anyone. If he had had a breath, he might have sighed in melancholy.

    “Brother is dead,” he said simply. And that was that.

    Ling stopped dead at the archway to the royal gardens. The golden flowers were in bloom. To Xing, yellow was a holy color. It was next to red in its glory. After all, the man who had brought alkahestry to Xing had golden hair, according to myth. They called immortal beings golden. Ling could scoff at that. He felt all but golden.

    “Oh,” he said softly.

    That was all he could really say. He hadn’t spoken directly to Edward in, well, about five or six decades. They had exchanged letters, of course, one every week like clockwork, and Ed’s wit on paper had never faded, but Ling felt it would hurt both of them if he were to visit. For Edward to see him unchanged by the sands of time, and for Ling to see Ed getting old and frail — even the thought of it hurt. No, Ling would rather remember how Edward had looked last time they had met in person. Young as he was with a heart of steel and an arm and leg to match.

    Ling cast his gaze to the grass of the garden. Even Greed was silent in his mind. When faced with loss, they usually overcompensated with the snark to cope. Their silence spoke volumes.

    There was silence between the boy who never aged and the hollow suit of armor, until Ling finally spoke.

    “We really are a lonely few,” he said quietly.

His shoulders shook, although he tried his best to make them stop. But slowly, inevitably — tears began to trace their winding-river paths down his face.

Ling Yao, the Eternal Emperor of Xing, broke down and cried. He cried enough for both of them. And his tears didn’t quite water the golden-flower trees.


	2. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get sad again. also greed is an asshole but thats ok

After Alphonse left, Ling retired to his rooms. They were lovely and huge with a balcony looking out on the garden and massive windows looking out on the city.

Frankly, the hugeness of his rooms made them seem even lonelier.

Practically every friend he’d ever had was dead now.

Ling took down the tight topknot he had in his hair. At least his hair still grew. It was down past his waist now, brushing against his shoulders like silk. He no longer had the bangs. That hairstyle was the hairstyle of a boy who maybe _physically_ had not changed, but mentally —

He took off his robes too, left them pooled on the floor like a bloodstain or maybe a liquid Philosopher’s stone. He was left in his white undershirt and loose pants.

If anyone saw him like this, he wondered, what would they think? The golden Emperor, looking all black-and-white like a ghost or an old photograph. They might think him faded. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was faded, maybe he should be a ghost by now, a spectre in photos.

At least if he were dead he could be _happy_. At least if he were dead he could —

He crossed the room to his massive walk-in closet.

Thankfully, the palace staff knew not to look in his closet. He definitely had some skeletons in there. Also, that was where he kept all the letters from Ed.

He wondered if Ed had kept his.

Probably. If there was one thing Edward Elric was — had been — (and Ling winced at the thought, because there was a part of them, quite a large part, that wanted to pretend Ed was still alive and would write him back next week and that everything was fine) it was loyal. To his brother first and foremost, but also to his friends, and to his country. Fiercely loyal. That was one of the things Ling loved about him.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut as the pressure built up behind them once again. How could he be gone? Ling rested his white-clothed back against the wall and slid down it. Landed with a bump on the plush carpet. Squeezing his eyes shut was only a temporary measure against the flood, however, like a levee that was too low. The tears came again. They wet his sleeves and his pants as he sobbed into his knees.

Ling was alone.

 _Not technically_ , said Greed.

“Shut up,” Ling said out loud to nothing. “You barely talk anymore anyways.”

_Yeah. We’re both a mess, kid._

“And you’ve lost the right to call me a kid.” Ling hiccuped, his hair sticking to the dampness on his face. “I’m not, anyways.”

_You’re still a kid to me._

Ling smiled despite the sadness. “I hate you, Greed.”

He crawled over on hands and knees to the low space where he kept the letters. One a week for sixty-five years — that was about three thousand letters. He’d kept all of them.

Kneeling in front of the first drawer, he opened it. The earliest letters. Back when he’d been young and dumb and maybe even prideful. And so had Ed. Back when they both thought they had all the time in the world to write circles around each other and fill pages with jokes at the other’s expense.

_Careful, kid. If you keep thinking that way you’ll cry again._

“I thought I told you not to call me kid!” But Ling couldn’t really be mad, not for long. Not at Greed. Once you’ve known each other’s very self and inner thoughts for as long as they did, there was remarkably little making them different people. Well. Greed was a bit more of an _asshole_.

Ling took out a random letter, taking note — well, making Greed take note — of the letters it was between. He had a very advanced filing system. Kind of. Okay, it was in order by date. Whatever, super advanced.

He opened it.

 _Dear “Emperor Ling,”_ it read,

_It was nice to get your last letter. Maybe send it faster next time._

_Anyways I’m glad you and Greed are doing alright. Me and Al are working on… something. Okay to be honest we don’t really know what to do. Colonel Musty Bitch has had us doing paperwork for the past week. Something about ““massive property damage”” or some shit. It wasn’t my fault. By the way you still owe me for Rush Valley. Maybe I should come to Xing and mooch food off YOU and see how YOU feel. Actually you’d probably love that. Nevermind. I should visit anyways. See how you’re doing._

_Also my seventeenth birthday is in two weeks. So jot that down. I’m visiting Winry soon, too. My automail needs a tune-up or whatever. Maybe I’ve grown. Actually, I’m taller than her now. So that’s a victory._

_Write you soon,_

_Ed_

Ling smiled, but there was no joy in it. Ed’s seventeenth birthday — that was when Ed had visited. It was nice to see him, and a shame he never visited again. From then on it was phone calls, then eventually those stopped and it was just letters.

Ling didn’t mind. Any correspondence from Ed became just about the highlight of his week as the years marched on. At least his _brain_ hadn’t stayed fifteen forever. In fact, he would bet that if literally everyone in Xing didn’t know who he was, people would comment that he seemed very mature for his age.

Too bad he couldn’t test that!

“Hey, what was this letter between again?”

 _15 and 34_ , Greed said, obviously entirely disinterested. Ling got the feeling that they were leaning back in their metaphorical chair and putting their feet on the metaphorical table.

He put the letter back where it belonged and got up, looked around for something to do. He found nothing.

“I guess I’ll go to bed now,” he said to himself and no one.

That night, he dreamt of golden hair and fierce eyes. It was warm, in his dream, all fire and memories of feeling safety in a sea of blood. But he woke up with the sunlight cold on his back. He’d never noticed before that sometimes the dark was better than the light. He’d never considered before that maybe death was better than life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that shit hurted but im probably gonna come back to this to edit,,, goodnight theyre gay and this is sad... stan edling

**Author's Note:**

> gay rights....?


End file.
